The Many Troubles of A Kingdom
by Zeeri
Summary: When a man wakes up from an event he hardly remembers and finds himself picking up the pieces in a flurry of emotions, and then finds out he's a Lord, things definitely aren't going to go well. Lirandos, a stubborn yet distraught elf, finds himself needing to find his Lady ... But where could she be?


**- - This first chapter is a taster, so if you want to see more, do let me know! I don't intend to write too much in the chapters but they won't be far apart. Hope you enjoy! - -**

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Blackness was all he remembered: the all-seeing blanket enveloping him in his mind and heart, shielding him from the world yet allowing the world to see him in as much detail as they wanted. An uneasy pumping in his heart had him paralyzed in foreign territory, the smells and taste in his mouth unfamiliar as he stood delirious, unaware of everything, only the pang of fear lingering in his head and telling his body exactly what to do. Shadows danced around him, each a different shape, a new enlightenment or perhaps in his case, a new enemy. One shadow began to close in on him as he felt his feet begin to shift; shakily scuffling backwards until his back hit a wall and he stared up at the solid shadow in front of him; wearing a cowl, a faint light glinting beneath of forest green. He lifted his eyes and stared into the cowl to meet the dark, flaring eyes of his captor.

"... You have awakened, Lirandros." His captor spoke, voice full of some sort of ... Disgust? Shock? Emotions muddled in his mind as his mouth opened to speak, but words were unable to form on his lips, only in his mind. _Did they drug him? And who was Lirandros? What was his own name again ... it was ... it was ..._

"Many questions reside in your cunning mind, Lord," the male saw his captor's lips twist upwards in a cruel smirk, but he seemed cautious of hurting him. "My name is Ralin. I am your ... personal butler, per se. Your name is Lord Lirandros Frostleaf. You had a very serious outburst - loud, at that, and it called the attention of a few thugs."

Suddenly, words came from his mouth, perhaps before he'd even thought them through. They came out jumbled, perhaps incoherent, but all the same, the other man seemed to understand. "Drugged, I was? Hurt? Tell now, before my ... your ... ngh." Lirandros appeared to give up, exhausted, and simply fell back. All of the sudden he was cushioned with a frame-hugging mattress. He closed his eyes, seeking comfort in the blanket below him. "Lover ... where is she? ..."

"She is safe, but in the hands of another, for she took quite the injury from the thugs. You killed one of them, my Lord, and so we drugged you into slumber so that-"

"You drugged me, and do not even allow me to see my Lady?" Lirandros started off of the mattress, lights flickering on about him. This room was familiar - was it his? Regally decorated, much like himself, covered in the most richest of fabrics and with the grandest accessories. 'He has good tastes', he could not help but ponder, though his mind should have lingered on his Lady, not some silly room which could actually do with refining. It was out of date by weeks, of the latest trends in the upper class society.

"It was for both of you, your highne-" Halting as Lirandros gripped the male by the cowl and yanked it off, the Lord's own dark embers of emerald staring into his butler's, Ralin allowed the Lord to cut in.

"Find her, and bring her to me, injured or not. Heirs must be risen to take my place in our house, business to be dealt with and more; perhaps not tonight, but if she is to bleed to death because of your so-called medic, you will all be living upon the streets." His mind was still hazy, but he felt energized, and more furious than he likely ever had, maybe even over something so miniscule to others.

"Our medic is top quality, Lord."

"Your quality matters not. My skills are far superior to that old hag's, and I will have myself take care of my love, for she deserves the highest upper-classman to keep her company and wrap her wounds. It shall not be done by a pair of grimy, coarse, old hands, you insolent, ignorant male. To think you are my 'butler'. Go, before you anger me further." After a final moment of glaring into the other male's eyes, the Lord's posture slumped as his tender left and he sat back onto the bed, the door shutting vaguely registering in his mind, too overcome with thoughts of nobility and his next speech to the Magisters and higher ups as he drifted back into sleep, certain that he will see his love very soon.


End file.
